Virtuoso's Ultimatum
by Celestial Exodus
Summary: The world draws near apocalypse when the ancient turmoil between Bonta and Brakmar reaches its zenith and the forsaken trio collectively archived as the Zalphrecy awakens from their eternal slumber.
1. Preface: Introduction to VU

The Preface

**Introduction**: Well, here it is. Virtuoso's Ultimatum, the tale of a young man by the name of Rayn Veritas on his adventure to deny the prophecy set by an ancient philosopher. The main story, also known as the _Virtuoso Saga_, entails mainly the perspective of Rayn Veritas from beginning to end. Each legitimate 'chapter' encompasses about ten parts, some with various scenes or '**Acts**' as I name them in the navigation bar. This totals for a Prologue, five chapters or the equivalent of fifty parts (again, named _Chapters_ here on ), and an Epilogue. To add to this, you'll occasionally get to read from Axl Burose's point of view; the secondary main character. This is known as the _Ace of Heart Saga_, and will occasionally be injected into the storyline so you can get a different idea of what happened, and maybe that'll fill in the blanks. These little sidestories will be labeled **AoH Saga** in the navigation bar.

This story uses the lore created for Dofus by Ankama Games. They did an extremely good job of giving several characters and history backdrops to use, and they left it so open ended that it's very easy to fill in missing details with your own ideas. What's more, there is an entire one-thousand years between Dofus, the first game in their trilogy, and Wakfu, the sequel. Both have their own storylines, but one-thousand years gives a tremendous leeway on what can and what can't be done. For this reason, I've created this slightly deterred AU of Dofusian/Wakfusian timeline.

Reviewing would be greatly appreciated! I would love to hear opinions from different readers. The diction I use it kind of verbose and somewhat expansive on your vocabulary. But hopefully in the context given, you can analyze the meaning of a lot of the words. Also, if you play Dofus on the server Solar or Zatoïshwan, my names there are Razalas & Captivated, and Exeunt, respectively. Hope you enjoy the story! (:

Oh yeah! And some terms you _might_ need to know while reading this all!

**Pods** are the system used in the game to measure **weight**. **Kamas** are the form of **currency** in the world of Dofus and Wakfu. A **Zaap** is a portal structure which **teleports** people to other Zaaps. A **Zaapi** is a **land transportation service** which brings you from district to district in a large city. A **Dofus** is an ancient **egg** laid by a powerful dragon of an ancient era, which holds tremendous power. A glossary will be added soon.

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**Disclaimer**: I do not own the rights to Dofus™ or any of their products including game line, music soundtracks, artwork, store products, or anything else which is developed, distributed, or shared by the company. The following is a fan fiction based on the lore produced by the company and uses characters, places, names, and objects which are owned by Ankama Games®.


	2. Prologue: Auditation to the Audience

Virtuoso's Ultimatum

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_"The world seeks for answers, **blinded **by what they see. I seek for **truth**."_

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The breeze was brisk that solemn evening. Not a chipper from the faintest of creatures. The waft of air brought with it the vagrant fragrance of an early dawn of Jiva's descent. A figure melancholically whispered through the streets, drifting so enigmatically that I daresay his shadow danced in the soft yonder light from the crescent which hung so droopingly above. There lie a shutter to the left, clasping to the wall; an overhang to the right, dripping fresh rain tenderly into an ingeniously positioned bucket which caught each drop with a faint '_ploop_'. The night seemed to morrow endlessly without as much as a whisper, and yet men and women alike burrowed cautiously in their homes, hoping they wouldn't be the one on that dreaded twilight to be the victim of the ill-fated grasp of the Auditor.

They knew not of who the Auditor was. Some believed it to be the poltergeist of Grizmine, an apparition without a carapace which haunts the duly citizens of Amakna. Others thought it to be a hellspawn conjured by the Highmage, an extravagance of magick which is bound to a sacred pillar located in the depths of Pandala. Yet others believe it to be the dark minion of Ogrest, who comes to terrorize the townsfolk without remorse, slaying an individual at the beginning of every month just for the wickedness of the act.

That was the night I curled up in the corner of my room, snugged closely to my mother and my father. That was the night I heard for the first time, the signal to your demise. That was the night, which I heard its unholy murmur, and felt it's heinous sigh coyly vaporize upon my arid skin. That was the night I felt for the first time the morbid chill, of what it feels like to stand on the line which separated life from death.

That was the night, my mother and father told me they loved me, for the very **last **time.


	3. Chapter One: The Autumnor Mourn

There comes a time every now and then where the skies themselves seem to hide behind a curtain. A wall, a sea, simply an infinite expanse of grey nothingness. From this grey sky-ocean water seemed to drop down piece by piece. To us, it was a melancholic symbol of the dead, as proposed by the many lore that our elders told. In their stories they called it rain. I thought it was kind of funny, because it matched so closely to my own name.

It was the time of the year again when the air of the Sidimote Moor itself had seemingly stretched its reaches into the expanses of Amakna, hugging so close to the sky as to choke out the sunlight from the tumbling landscape. Today was the day that marked what had been eighteen inglorious years since the day of my birth. By the traditional rite of passage, it was my proclaimed duty to journey into the Treechnid Jungle to slay a Dark Treechnid and bring back its powerful syrup. The syrup was the primary ingredient of several antidotes that otherwise wouldn't exist. It was by no means an easy challenge for any aspiring warrior, and by all means I don't think I had any chance of surviving this perilous journey,

There was, however, a saving grace which was the one crutch that kept any of us novices from clinging onto our lives. The warrior subject to the rite would be accompanied by their mentor. In this case, it was Cid, my closest friend and greatest teacher. Cid had quite the impressive legacy in our fair village. He was without a doubt the most seasoned warrior that our eyes had ever laid eyes on. Every fabled legend couldn't hold a light next to Cid's rigid heroism. He was man not even balding yet, easily close to fifty years old now, built to flock the steepest mountains and to return a heartened warrior more so than he was before. And when you didn't find him in the Kanojedo sparring with the other aspiring fighters of our village, he was found in Iop's temple, decrypting the scrolls of our late ancestors. I remember the first time I had the sword latched to his belt. Folklore called it the Neverparanorm.

But, to fill in you, the reader, the world is divided in such a way that five main powers exclusively bolster power in the world of Twelve.

The majestic Bonta held his benevolent scepter across the immaculate province of Cania. The holy fortress of Albinide stagnantly stationed itself at the northernmost part of the mainland. His ranks consist of powerful soldiers who swear oath to the Righteous Zeal, a code of law which every Bontarian knight pertains to. Brother to Brakmar, his legacy is known as the Dusk Gaol.

Brakmar, the dark warlord, shrewdly hailed his unholy gavel over the blacklands known as Sidimote. The minions which served his wicked judgment had with each their own the same morbid gaze the dark ruler himself looked down upon the world with. A cogent of authority, the brother who serves under the malevolent canon of Rushu bears the legacy of the Twilight Gaol.

Ogrest the Dofarian Tyrant, controller of the six true Dofi, watches down upon Thirteen with his stoic glare which shifts the very tides of nature. With a simple flare of his fingers he controls the very seismic laws of the world. Legend speaks of how his eternal loneliness caused him to weep endlessly, and the magic prospering in his tears fell heavily onto the world, washing upon shore and creating what is now known today as the Asse Sea. The story of his tyrannous rule relates back to the ancient lore of Bolgrot, who clashed in fearsome bout of might and magic against the gallant knight Rykke Errel. The infinite power of the Dofi which are known to be absolute were what traced the veins of aptitude in Ogrests' lament. They say that Ogrest resides in the tallest of the magnificent peaks of Ombres Avail.

The followers of La'tropé, brother of Xelor, control the fabrics of space and render the movements of all that exists. Through intense concentration, they could quickly re-atomize their physical form to reappear in a different location; tout de suite. The masters of this art can swiftly traverse from region to region without an effort, while the novices to this fabled technique require being able to see the destination of the teleportation. Further mastery of 'Washunavu' as the followers of La'tropé call it allows them to be able to not only move only themselves, but other people and objects as well. Obviously, this fascinating skill makes them very formidable warriors, using tactics and what seems to be unparallel speed to quickly overtaking their opponents. The majority of these followers are trained in the temples of Latranavu, which hover over the barren earth incredibly as the ingenious product of expert engineering and magic.

Finally we have King Allister XI, who holds sovereign rule over the just region in which we resided in, Amakna. His family had been regime over these amicable quarries for nearly twelve generations now. For nearly half a millennium he along with his ancestors have kept the brooding war between Brakmar and Bonta staid, along with the godlike Ogrest's campaign to control over this domain at bay from entering this harmonious keepsake. Lately, however, the devastating bloodshed between the two alignments has been spreading around the globe more so than before having reduced the Imps Village and once Bwork garrison Gisgoul to absolute rubble. Some even have spoke of the havoc they've witnessed which had been emerging as of late across villages across Amakna. Tavern quarrels which erupt between those who swore allegiance to either side of the battle, cursing out another brute looking to pick a game with death; brawls which break out on the outskirts tearing apart the timeless amity; heartless assassinations which result in the sudden birth of a widow or widower. Sadly, I look at this senseless vehemence as the pointless mortality of young men and women whose blood-crest oath badge lie in the sullen earth, teared upon by the blissful angel, _Autumnor Mourn_.

One such of a clash occurred here in our village a time ago...


	4. Chapter Two: Legion of Flames

Word to the wise that politics was an old man's horse. You needed cunning wisdom and deft knowledge of the inner workings of the political system. At least, that's what the elders claimed. I was never personally fond of politics, but I never disregarded Cid's fascination of the system. Of course, when you lived in a world that was surrounded by wars and alliances that prospered from politics, you couldn't help but pay heed once in a blue moon.

Next to King Allister XI, he had his own council which helped him make decisions. Decisions of peace, decisions of war... it fell into their hands – not his. Many consider this council to be the true mind behind every call and King Allister only a figurehead. Respectfully, this is not the case, and I suppose you shouldn't think of it that way.

But this is me fraying away from my anecdote. Politics only ties in that the Brakmarian and Bontarian conquests interjected into Amaknian territory. You see, I live in the amicable village of Nuremlow, on the western outskirts of the region once known as the Milicluster. Around this region particularly the feud between the Black and White Centaurs had reached its climax.

It was the Eve of Abrogation. That is what the historians archived it by. I'm not too sure what happened off in the distant Sidimote and Cania wastelands, but the chaos that ensued spilled into Amakna like blood onto a battlefield. It had begun to take its toll and slowly rip the province apart. A mischievous vagabond had arrived in Nuremlow that fateful dusk. He was no more the size than myself, possibly a tad taller. Yet, there was something about him that made you question his presence. He wore a crimson cloak with a faded black breastplate underneath, carrying a sigil with a blood-red Boowolf engraved into it. He drifted slowly into the streets, his face hidden as he tugged on his hood. People stared at him as he enigmatically toured through the town, not inquiring a single person or object and keeping completely to himself. It wasn't until Sir Rosenbleu, a guardian of our village, called out to the mysterious figure, that the wanderer stopped in his tracks and stood in place. His head was fixated, facing down as if staring at the ground. A hand slipped into his cloak and seemed to grip what appeared to be a handle. Civilians nearby already felt the tension amplify by this simple gesture and silently but hastily slipped back into their homes. The other four guardians had joined Sir Amarou Rosenbleu. There was Sir Deleus Neurus, wizard follower to Xelor. Sir West Volyen, guardian follower of Feca. Sir Bolen Teralis, virtuous follower of Pandawa. Lastly Sir Cidolfus Requieus, devout follower of Iop. I recall the events that I witnessed clearly, peering out of the attic shutter on the edge of the town square.

It was Rosenbleu, a hardened berserker who fought with the malignant grace of Sacrier that initially approached the stranger.

"Who are you, stranger, and what is your business here?" He stood silently, waiting for a response. The figure simply stood there, untouched by the fabrics of time. "I'm repeating myself only once, sir." Rosenbleu gritted his teeth. "What is the nature of your business?" The others stood stagnant, poised ready to strike at a moment's notice. The cloaked man turned around, still encased in his shroud, his rugged face mostly masked by the shadow of the hood. Cid stepped forward.  
"We wish you no harm, stranger. It is advised that you at least give to us your name and allegiance." Rosenbleu turned and nodded towards Cid. They unanimously turned back to the figure who still hadn't made a single movement.  
"Last chance friend." He placed a tattooed hand over his shoulder, feeling for the handle of his axe. "Have no quarry, surrender your cooperation." The hooded man, as if triggered by some unknown occurrence, began to take steps forward towards Rosenbleu, who alarmingly heaved a mighty axe in front of him. "Stop!"  
It was then and there that I knew that this mysterious person who had entered our harmonious town with what seemed like no purpose was but nothing more but once a myth that the elders assured us never existed.

He was only supposed to be a legend. A Legionnaire.

His shroud fluttered into the air as he unmasked his veil, drawing a demon-like sword enveloped in a dark ambiance which encased it, coveting both the blade and soon the vagrant himself in a hazy darkness. He bore against the skin of his face a mask engraved with the face of the devil himself. The five acted quickly, realizing this was no normal adversary. Neurus flung his arm out, ripping the fabrics of time around the enemy, but had little to no effect as the menace had seemingly faded into a mirage, the dark aura with him. Suddenly the air spiked to disgusting temperatures and the humid deepened into my lungs. I remember I began to choke in the attic not from the dustiness but from the intense heat that began that drenched the room in what felt like heavily wet fire. A pillar of flames erupted from the ground, catching only Rosenbleu in the inferno. He quickly braced himself and rolled out of the fire, scathed with deep burns. Before then, I had never seen him feel pain. Rosenbleu had a lot of scars from prior battles, but the inferno had something about it that was really peculiar. Something dark; something beyond twisted.  
I peered over the shutter as the tattoos on Rosenbleu's body began to recede into nothingness. A follower of Sacrier without his or her tattoos is without the the sacrilegious blessings, rendering them powerless as a normal civilian. Volyen, realizing this distress, quickly encased the five in a glyph which acted as a powerful shield. I had seen it withstand strikes from Cid before; it was indeed a garrison in comparison to other followers of Feca.  
The ending to the battle, however, was nothing short of grim. The safety of Volyen's shields ran quickly. The air around the shield became misty and soon terrifying dark. I couldn't see through it at all peering through the window. Yet, I felt an evil presence permeating from it. I felt the haze almost seem to scratch the glass of the shutter, almost as if it was alive and desiring to kill... to kill me. It was the epitome of despair; bête noire. The eclipse became fear at its highest degree, and I was left quivering, terrified of what was soon to happen. Yet all I could remember, was a piercing screech; the sound of which could only be described as hell itself sharpening a twisted dagger wielded by only the most sinister of foul beings. It lasted only a seconds, and I heard one by one the cries of a fallen warrior. I heard but four signatures to the hand of death...

The fog had cleared and revealed the stranger facing away from me, his corrupt blade dripping onto the sullen earth with freshly brewed blood, glowing as if it had simply pleasured its own sinister desires. His mere presence drew my attention away from the horror that had just ensued. My eyes shifted to four bodies surrounding a nearly defeated warrior. Lying scattered were but the same bodies belonging to the four cries that I heard. Cid stood braced, a gashing wound stretching from his left shoulder down towards his right-side hip. He was the sole survivor of the ruthless massacre. Cid fell to his knees, gasping for air, still coughing and choking from the piercing night. His stance faltered, his eyes dim, he was a but a man who was already dead, yet living through sole endurance.

The wanderer, a single warrior who arrived from nowhere, had effortlessly slain four of Nuremlow's protectors in such a few minutes and stood without a single scathing mark on him. He turned around and did not glare at Cid... but looked up towards the shutter at the building behind him.

I saw his frigid eyes. I saw the true embodiment of death. In the mirror of his eyes, I saw not myself, but the grim vocation of death, his tormented face behind a hood not unlike the stranger's. Just his glance was enough to make me feel dizzy and lightheaded and turn away from the scene below. It was intimidation to the point where I could not watch any more, fearful that he might come after me next.

The drifter was nowhere to be found after everyone felt safe enough to exit their shelters. He had left behind only a Brakmarian sigil soaked in blood in his place. Everyone felt safer under the implication that he had finally made his exit. Everyone except for me. I certainly did not feel safe.

What I felt... what I I felt was that he was still watching... waiting... and that if I turned my back away from a solid wall for a single moment in time... he'd be there behind me.

That was fear... that was utter... _true_... **fear**...


	5. Chapter Three Act I: The Long Road Ahead

The rain continued to splash against the pane of my window making this clicking noise which held my attention for a while. Simple little details like that seldom kept me entertained, but I was particularly bored that evening. I was pretty deep in thought that late evening. It was rare that I ever had to venture deep outside the village, especially as far as the Treechnid Forest. My head leaned against my hand and supported it as I lulled slowly to daydream. A knock on the door brought me to, startling me to my feet. A familiar voice muffled through the wooden panel.  
"Rayn. Mind opening the door?" It was Cid's voice. Stumbling to the door, I couldn't help but wonder if Cid brought news of the quest. Cid caught the door handle on the other side as I pulled fiercely. "It'd be in your best interest to not awaken those who slumber." I looked around for a second, peering outside the door and into the hallway. Indeed, it was dead silent, as everyone was under their sheets waiting for the night to pass through dream. I guess staring at rain was more time consuming than I imagined. I apologized solemnly. Cid grimaced and signaled me to take a seat before cautiously closing the door behind him. A feeling of agitation overshadowed the deep expression in his face. I began to mutter something but he quickly cut me off.  
"I know you're expecting news of our leave." He turned away to look out into the rain. "But I'm afraid, there will be no journey." A short, seemingly eternal pause. "No quest." He picked up some paper from my desk, shuffling through them. "Instead, we're been sent as couriers to the majestic King Allister IX." He turned to face me. "I know it was your intent to pass through this rite, but now..." he stammered for a moment, "You're being called upon to fulfill a duty for mankind." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "It was never my intent for you to be caught up in the outside world, but you're a man now. You have to understand the turmoil of the world, and the impending disasters." He stood up, disgruntled. "Rest now, Rayn, for tomorrow and no later, we must begin our journey to the castle." As quickly as he entered, he bowed before taking his leave. There was a moment of utter silence minus the sound of rain against the pane of my window. Slowly I looked around, observing my surroundings for a while. I walked over to my desk and pulled out a small box from the drawer... it had "memorabilia" scribbled on it in poor charcoal. I lifted the top and pulled out a cast-iron necklace with a small silver cross insignia. It belonged to my uncle Ambros Burose, lieutenant command of the Sharp Eye and close ally of Bonta. But more importantly, he was the closest of my family, before he vanished from the annals of history, never heard from again.

I switched the lights off, and climbed into bed. I listened to the rain, whose splashes became louder and fiercer. A storm was brewing, and I heard thunder rumbling in the tumbling landscapes beyond the Milicluster. I tugged my blanket over myself, and hoped nothing more than night lasting forever, for I was not prepared for the events to come.


	6. Chapter Three Act II: The Essence of War

A scene of panic and discord erupted from my awakening. I just remember I woke up to the smell of smoke and humidity which felt like blankets being tossed on top of me. An attempt to stand was met with crippling weakness. Falling to the ground I listened carefully until I could hear the sound of ravaging flames very close by. Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming from outside my room. The door slammed, as if a person had just tackled it. The first time, it stood stagnant, but I heard the wood of the panel begin to give in. Then the second time, the person from outside successfully barged down the door. It was a savage warrior, no doubt serving under Brakmar's legion by the hue of his armor. I tried to hide behind the bedpost but the warrior surveyed the room quickly before finding me. I felt his stare, I saw his grin. He was a heartless soldier, serving under the Twilight Gaol. By no means was he ready to let me leave unscathed. His hand caught me by the neck and I was lifted off the ground. The sound of a blade being drawn caused me to shut my eyes closed tightly, clenching my teeth shut and bracing for the grasp of death. A bellow erupted from this brute. He took ultimately pleasure from my acceptance to death. "Beg for mercy." He whispered this close to my face. My executioner stood their, his grip tightening, then suddenly released as he grunted dismissively before completely dropping me to the ground. I opened my eyes, gasping for breath, and there he lie as well, face down in a puddle of his own blood. Cid stood before the warrior's body as well as my own, smirking coyly. He pulled me to my feet, handing me a weapon. A longsword, no less. I felt the cool steel as I tested its quality with my finger. Staring at the metal, I felt the adrenaline starting to circulate in my blood... not the same adrenaline that pumped through my veins when sparring in the Kanojedo. I understood what was to come. It was time to put my enemies to their graves, and at the same time... put myself at the risk of the same cruel fate. Soon the essence of embers became the stench of war, and the sound of fire would become the entropy of death.

Hastily we dashed through the hallways of the tavern which had apparently caught aflame. Outside was the cries of warriors and the sound of metal scraping upon metal, gashing into flesh and blood. Three more Brakmarians threw themselves upon Cid and I. A blade came down on Cid, but he expertly parried it away before thrusting a jab into his opponent. A swing in my direction, and I ducked before feeling for the first time what it felt like to end a life. I became one with the sword and as the blood slid fluidly down the edge of the blade; at the same time my very own blood pumped ecstatically throughout my veins. This was the feeling of the god Iop and his merciless wrath, and as more enemies came up behind us, the power surged immensely through the course of my body. This power, this ferocity, was released in devastation as I sunk the blade into the ground and all of this energy was released in a cataclysmic fury. The explosion cracked the ground itself and impacted at the feet of my enemies, completely annihilating them. This power, it was one which I had never felt before. Released by the shedding of a blood price. I now understood what war really was. The fire, it was brooding within me, and as I desired to release it again. A hand came to my shoulder and I twisted in a jerking motion about to assault the owner of it before I realized it was Cid. He stood there, in awe of my own power. I too, had just begun to realize what I had done.  
"Rayn... there is a proper time for such senseless savagery. You now know the pleasure of bloodshed... keep its callousness in your heart, but do not allow it devour you from the inside-out." At this, his hand was released and I gazed upon blood-stained earth, a sickly red and brown color of such discord. The rain began to pick up again as Cid began to walk away onto the pathway north towards Astrub. Without moving my head or shifting my eyes, I involuntarily began to follow suit, leaving behind a wake of destruction and chaos in my tread. This was the beginning of the long road ahead of us.


	7. Chapter Four: Reminiscence

As we tread upon a dreary path, the rain silently fluttered about the sky, hazily skipping across a-many stone. Flip-flops did little to stop the rain from catching in little crevices between my tired feet and the abraded leather which had served me for a few years now. It didn't bother me at first, but after a while, it felt like I was heaving a bucket of water in each sandal. Cid kept a steady pace, which was basically the only thing keeping me from lying out on the sullen grass and drifting off to slumberland.  
"Hey Cid," I muttered. He didn't turn around, but he gave notice.  
"Yeah boy?" His perpetual gait began to create a gap between us.  
"How come you never talk about your past? Y'know... like before you arrived in Nuremlow." I barely noticed that he had stopped in his tracks and had nearly collided with him.  
"The past should stay the past and never falter the present." He began his steps forward again, but some feeling urged me to reach out to him.  
"You're right the past should never falter the present, but keep in mind that it is also the gateway to the future." Again he stopped. I continued to penetrate the barrier which kept Cid's precedents locked away. "I don't know what happened or how you got to where you are today." I sought for a breath of air for a moment. I hadn't realized how deep I was getting myself into. "History repeats itself... it is only denied by the Gods themselves... the power to undo our past." Cid turned around to face me, standing stagnantly in the fervent rain.  
"My child... anyone who believes they cannot change history..." he casually raised his head and gave me a hardened glance, "has never written a memoir before." There was a slight pause before he smirked and gave a light chuckle. "Now let's keep moving my boy. No need to dwindle in the hem and haw. We have a long road to Astrub and its best we move quickly." He looked up to the sky and a cardinal flew overhead, carrying in its talons a parchment. He smirked. "News of this call of warfare will reach King Allister quickly. Then we will have a bigger problem on our hands."

The rain softened as we made distance away from Nuremlow, meaning a peaceful night's rest, minus the soggy earth. We gathered firewood to which Cid lit aflame with an incantation of magic. The night perched overhead with stars blanketing the sky, with the capacious clouds of storm befalling towards the Sufokian coastline. I recognized the landscape as Farle Ingalsse's Field, where legend spoke of how he tended to every pasture of soil through heat and storm and yielded the world's earnest of crops. We sat around the smoldering flames, keeping close to it for warmth and comfort. I felt the need to try again.  
"Cid... is there _anything _at all you can share about your past?" He looked up from the enchanting fire which danced and flickered in the mellow moonlight. Faintly he began to ponder, which was probably a cue for me to not speak. Then he snapped back to reality.  
"Alright Rayn. Since you're so ambitious to chase after my past, I'll share with you a story." Intrigued by my effortless breakthrough compared to previous trials, I perked myself to his tale. "Let me reach back twenty-five years ago... as a man who had reached the apex of my prime, I was well known for being one of the most polished of swordsman in the land." I nodded instinctively. "But there was one other warrior who bested me in strength, speed, dexterity, and exceeded me in the most important trait in battle... my willpower." He seemed to turn dismayed. "He was a challenger from a far away land. Further than the barrens of Cania. Come to test the precinct of our quarry. The elders chose me to represent them. And I'll tell you now, I entered the Kanojedo with an iron confidence and a boastful pride while my opponent stood there sharpening his weapon. I made the mistake of only paying heed to the villagers chanting me on, rather than analyzing my foe. I drew my sword; not the Neverparanorm, but a treasured memento of a long passed knight in our village whose name was Omero. It was flawless in every detail; the paragon of blacksmithing. He pointed his blade at me, and I returned with a wide grin, and thus the battle began." Cid pulled out his canteen, taking a drink. He stalled for a moment before continuing. "Within the first few moments of the battle I knew he was no normal opponent. His brandished sword parried each and every stab I sent at him with effortless motion. An overhead swing resulted in two fingers suspending the blade in midair and halting my strike with such suddenness that the dust on the ground stirred. The spectators, astonished by how brutally I was being defeated, stared agape. I couldn't beat him. He was a finer swordsman in every way." Cid paused again to take in a breath of air. "When he finally decided to be done with me, he grasped my blade with a bare hand at the edge, pulled it away from me, knocked me to the ground with a simple maneuver, and planted his sword into the ground while still holding mine." At that, Cid pulled out the Neverparanorm. "And he claimed Masamura from me and exchanged it with the Neverparanorm." Cid passed a finger down the edge of the epee, and I watched the golden luster radiate from hilt to tip. "He was there to pass a curse; not for a normal duel." I couldn't help myself but to scrutinize that last bit.  
"What do you mean _curse_? That sword is the finest work of craftsmanship I've ever laid eyes on!" Cid let out a slight chuckle before waving the blade in the air.  
"It is the soul collector, commonly referred to as the Blackblade in lore." I had never heard of it before, so I inquired. To this, he spoke to me the legend of the Blackblade, forged in the abysmal lair of Hel Munster for the audacious use for Raval, whom had encrypted the runes jeweled into the hilt of the weapon with a spell of Fate which binds the soul of the wielder upon death... a fate too wicked to go into detail about." Names were spoken which I heard about. Hel Munster, the greatest smithmagi to work, imbuing weapons with such properties to hand down judgment and decay. And there was Raval, one of the most powerful rogues to cross both alignments and turn the tides of war. If the Neverparanorm indeed was the Blackblade... I had so many more questions. But Cid would not listen to them. Instead he sheathed his sword and laid across the brush. "Enough anecdotes and history lessons Rayn. We must gather our strength for the rise of the next sun." I was tempted to challenge that, but I knew that Cid had reached his peak for catering to my obsession, and I definitely did not want to be the one to antagonize him. I learned enough that night as it was so I lay a cluttered head to rest, frolicking in a brine of reminiscence.

That night I dreamed a starry dream, jaunting in a barren wasteland, surrounded by a plethora of fallen warriors. I halt in my pace to find that I held an ancient pendulum in one hand while in the other I held the Neverparanorm...


	8. Chapter Five: Eventide Exodus

With the moon and the sun nearly holding hands at the center of the sky before parting for another day, the moon slept in a land elsewhere whilst the sun bowed before us. The morning had begun early, as they all do around the month of Jullier. Actually, when thinking of how the world revolves around the sun, the days were slowly paving their way to shorter ends as we distanced ourselves away from the month of Junssidor.  
A gust brought with it the scent of Autumnor leaves, a fragrance that also carried a breeze of nostalgia. The memories came back in bits and pieces, bringing back times where I would go out into the vineyard in the late afternoon to pick the plump, succulent fruit from their stems. There we'd mash it up with our feet, squeeze the juice out, and then celebrate amongst each other another year of good harvest. I yearned for those days. The feeling of biting into the flesh of the fruit and feeling its blood trickle down your throat was like nothing that you could find elsewhere.  
Cid had created a steady pace while I followed behind solemnly, dragging my feet against the worn pathway. With each step I took I felt the need to stagger one or two with it, slowly creating a gap between Cid and myself once more, which I would then jog to catch up to make up for laziness. And this continued for a few days, really, with each day bringing with it little difference minus the shifting scenery from Amaknian to Astrubian foliage. The trees became thicker and the roots swam through the ground, especially upon the gargantuan oaks which towered above all else, clouding the sun with their star-shaped leaves. But on the sixth dusking day to which we had begun out journey, we had finally come across a hint of civilization. There it stood, a little off to the side from the road, a campsite with an ember burning heartily in the center. The sun had begun its reproach and the moon had so gallantly come up close to us that evening. Cid nodded to me.  
"Rayn, I want you to stay here near the road while I try to get some direction to where we are. If you run into any trouble..." he looked around warily, "... just yell and I'll come back in a split second." Unaware of the dangers of the night, I agreed with certainty. With that, Cid made his way towards the campfire, and I found a sturdy tree trunk to rest my back up against. It was difficult to see the sky due to the mass of branches entwining almost into a roof above. The ground was coveted in a sea of dying leaves, dried out from the rain from almost a week ago. Each step you took was accompanied by a crunching noise.  
My eyes had become heavy, and as I knew it wasn't the smartest idea to slumber out in the open like this, I couldn't help but to unsuccessfully fend off the pull of gravity upon my eyelids. As the transcending darkness overlapped my mind, I swore I heard something out of the corner of my ear. It was the faintest of sound; much unlike the familiarity of crunching or tumbling leaves. It was almost like knocking on the bark of a tree. Whatever it was, it knocked me out of my daze. It was the awareness factor, the emergency kick when one needs to snap back to reality. I looked over my shoulder; Cid was nowhere to be in sight. Most likely still looking for whoever was residing at the camp. The light of sun peering over the horizon quickly dispersed leaving only the face of the moon to illuminate the surroundings. To my feet, I heard not sounds of the eventide... I heard nothingness, emptiness, the void of all noise. Convinced that it was only the paranoia of imagination, I sat back down, and tried to close my eyes to flush out the thought. But the waning safety that I felt out in this brush had diminished to a point of nothing but caution.  
Then I heard it again. More vividly, the sound rang in my ears.  
The sound became more like footsteps; very light and quick, and it came up from above. Something was traveling in the trees, and at a great speed. The exact direction from which they were moving at was unclear due to the audition of the trees surrounding. The echoes bounced around me, and the world seemed to overcome me as the sound became louder in my mind.  
And then, silence. The noise had ceased to exist. But I knew I was not alone.  
A dagger flies in my direction, narrowly missing to what would've been through my skull. Instead, it stuck into the tree I had been resting upon. Another whizzes by and would've caught me dead-on that time had I not tumbled to the side. The assailant stalking the treetops above was persistent as I dashed through the sea of leaves, picking up an unkempt trail of leaves as I traversed. The daggers had been trailing me in swarms, sticking into trunks and bushes as I weaved my way through the forest. Vaulting over fallen trees and diving through the entanglement as the forest became a jungle, I finally came to a clearing where the moon shone tranquil above. A moment to arm myself, I summoned under the pretense of Iop and cast forth the Sword of Judgment, illuminating the area around me with intensity unfathomable to eyes. But there was no one following me anymore. Could the shadow stalker have stopped tracing my lead? No, it wasn't possible. No one of this pursuer's caliber could have so easily given up. Maybe... maybe I should have headed back to where Cid had left me. He could protect me if anybody. The light of the spell had guided me carefully, and I looked at the trees on the way back, at each dagger sticking out of each tree struck. Careful not to touch; there was no telling if it had been laced with some sort of acid or toxin. And at last, with the thickness of the jungle receding and the ample scent of the maple trees wafting through my nose, I felt safety once more.  
But it was nothing more, than false security.  
As I approached the pathway, vivid as it is under the moon-shone light, a trap springs, as a loop catches me by my Achilles tendon, flipping my world upside down and swinging me fiercely into a tree. As the calamity had ended, the mind-numbing pain knocks me into unconsciousness. I could have had sworn that was the end of me, and the hunter had finally captured its prey. The dazing vision left to me as I slipped to unconsciousness witnessed a shadowy blur coolly advancing. That was all before I had believed I had met my untimely demise.

To my marvel, my eyes had seen the light of night once more, and my head, aching with an explosive pain from the concussion, bandaged. A hearth boldly warmed the side of my face. Who else to stand before me, but Cid. Surveying the area a few others huddled around a flame, staring at me as if I were some sort of alien. The fire burned fiercely, and before I had known, I realized that I was at the campsite from earlier. So many questions to ask. It was instinct to believe that Cid had, for the second time, saved me from an imminent death. I turned over to him, and watched as he stared perpetually into the dancing embers.  
"Cid... did you-." He was quick to cut me off.  
"No... I found you lying on the ground, your head bandaged as it is now, and a dead follower of Sram lying beside you. Your assailant... a dagger was jammed in his spine and a clear slit made at the base of his throat. The tool to mark his end was one unlike any I had ever seen before." He pulled out the blade that he had mentioned. It was short, yet elegant. The brand had what seemed like tribal markings engraved into it and the hilt, made from refined silver, and was designed in an artistic style that I had never seen before in any analog of blacksmithing tomes. "There was no note. No hint of anybody who may have passed by. Whoever saved you came in; left his mark, and then absconded from the scene." He leaned in closer to the fire. "Just like that..." he waved his hands in the air, "_... exeunt_!" The flames leaped into the air and licked the sky at his call.  
I had stared into the twilight in the subconscious. I envisioned the events which had been vividly embroidered into my mind in the way Cid had described it.

The assassin had been assassinated.


	9. Chapter Six Act I: A Timeless Applause

The trudging never ceased. The path went on for infinity; the silhouette of a never ending dream weighed at the peak of every dawn and sunset. I followed with melancholic eyes and a sore head, always wondering where this journey would bring Cid and I on our journey to Iop-knew-where. Meanwhile, the toiling spoiling war of an undying virtue between light and darkness seemed to rage on, spilling its unholy blood into the washed up quarries of surrounding nations. That which was of death and dispute seemed to morrow on each day on and on, the word of another blue and red brawl twisting and turning through the scapes of every inn and tavern throughout Amakna. It always felt like the only way for the never-ending vehemence to cease was for one of the alignments to collapse, the leader's blood coating the blade of the opposing. But it was never for my thoughts to linger so far, beginning to get itself wrapped in these unlikely ideas, generating theories, ways that this could all end. I never wanted things to end how they did back in Nuremlow. The bloodied badge of those damn reddened barbarians splashed with the life force of the men and women that I had known all my life. But it was no time for me to be wallowing in mournful past. I knew Cid had a plan. He didn't have to say it, but I knew he was leading us somewhere; somewhere where other plans were integrating into one another, a system of chutes and tunnels, leading to something beyond imaginable. He didn't have to say anything; I just knew by the way he stared off into that dream off into the distance. He had this gaze... it wasn't by any means a maddening one. It was one that aspired to achieve, like that fire that fueled the machine to yearn to succeed. As sunrise eluded the crimson world's grasp and the fiery passion of the sun began to drag itself behind tumbling mountains, I began to realize how close we were surmounting through the journey to Astrub. The thick forest greens of the transition forests were beginning to emaciate into sparse oaks and masses of exiguous orchards. The road felt less smooth, it having been traversed much more than the remote pathway that connected the two regions. But amok the silence as day transited into dusk, the fiery reds turning into luscious hues of violet and refined cobalt, there was something unique in our presence. The same feeling that coursed through my mind when the assassin had stalked me through the eventide. It was mischievous, dark, basking in the glory of the dying light.  
"Wait." I called out. "There's something odd in the air around us." He halted in front of me.  
"So you noticed as well..." He turned around to face me, but his eyes did not meet mine, rather, peering over my shoulder. I turned immediately to see a most bizarre figure, resting his pompous buttocks nonchalantly on the remains of a great oak. Adorned in the garb of a court jester was a figure whose face was veiled by a crying, grinning mask without eyes. Oblivious to our presence, he lapped a foot over a thigh, his arm resting on the same leg, acting as a pedestal for the side of his face. It was as if he was caught in an apathetic trance. We were careful not to approach him; as such a suspicious figure that had arisen from the nether was obviously no mere being to be dealt with. Caution was advised; as through his otherworldly guise there was something more than sinister about his character.  
"Rapture..." The voice echoed through the dusking veil, dragging the sun into it's daily grave and pulling up the vivid moon from its daytime slumber. There were no stars tonight. "It is so... detrimental... to one's persona." Our eyes had been drawn by the sudden shift in luminescence; we had not paid attention to our enigmatic guest. When our attention had been snapped back to his appearance, he had already vanished. But an eerie whisper left in his stead. "I know of you travelers... Cidolfus Requieus of Ohm... Rayn Veritas of Emelka... yes, I am most delighted to make your acquaintance." There was no telling where the voice was coming from. Though the tall trees were no longer present to carry the sound surrounding us, something about the voice reached all around, grabbing at branches, entwining into the leaves. Like an orchestra of sound. I looked over my shoulder towards Cid... did the voice say Ohm?  
"Reveal yourself jester!" Cid called out. Something caused a waning bravery in him. I could tell in his voice. It was stabbing at his stature, almost making him shaky. Once again, the vagrant's whisper seemed to be coiling in the roots of the oaks.  
"I am right here, friends!" A wicked laughter cried into the approaching twilight. "Can you not see me?" It was then and there I realized that this was no mere trickster. No simple jester, lost in another world. "Caught in candid chivalry, can you feel the torment of the former souls you've reaped, Cid? Can you see the malignant face of despair?" There was a short pause of snickering, enveloped in callous grief. "You should, of all people." The ambiance soon shuttered as night morphed into utter void, and the blackness of hell itself became abstruse as the moon turned its face away. The dark side of the moon stared down on us. The trees became hazy, and the moans of a ghastly audience bellowed amok the discord. Blades drawn, the abhorrent undead began to claw through the earth, commanded through the cadaverous accolade orchestrated by the diabolical harlequin.


	10. Chapter Six Act II: Oraculum

"Never, nothing, naught, nevermore." These words engraved themselves into my unconscious mind, unwillingly floating in the grasp of the dark puppeteer. "Never, nothing, naught, nevermore." An insignia, a badge, regalia to my own sinister desires. And as if my reality was sinking into his deep influence, his hands disassembling the virtues I knew left from right, an image began to appear in the mystified fog. Suddenly, I was alone; Cid was nowhere to be found. The onslaught of undead had vanished handily all the same. But before I knew it, the decrepit masked lands of Astrub's fields had taken a more sinister touch than before. The ground took on a hue of scarlet, brooding a darkly twisting surface beget by the atrocities of war. It was unique; the scar planar of blades trudged into the earth, blood flowing fluidly fervorously through the veined crevices left by the mayhem. The sky was tarnished; had gravity been defied and blood spilled upside down, an ensanguined lake hung loosely overhead. As the sky commanded it, tears the hues of death rained benevolently from the sky. This was a barren wasteland; a field carved with memories of a past epoch. I felt it. Never, nothing, naught, nevermore. Bodies were littered across the moor, fitted with armor of Emelka soldiers... a figure stood shag in the traveling light; sporting a garment dressed in medals. Medals, which testified courage, valour, honour. And in the fervent rain, the freshly spilled blood had slithered off from his garb, and the colours of vintage red and ochre were borne in his stead. Our eyes met. Listlessly he exposed his identity from underneath the cloak of his hood, and I was met awestruck that the man who faced me was none other than... myself.

With nothing more than a stoic gaze, I felt weighted as around my waist was suddenly fitted a blade brandishing a gleaming waved edge, sparring 'Veritas' across the stock of the sword. The mirror in which I stared into drew a shimmering épée very much familiar to one I had seen before; the Neverparanorm. Something commanded me to trudge forward. I cantered closer towards my reflection, with it doing muchly the same. The gap between myself and I hastily closed to a standoff, until the blades collided mid-swing, and the ferocity that batted at me grew immensely. The corpses of the fallen Emelkan knights began to rise from the bloodied badlands, their wounds fresh and open, blood still trickling. A sinister laugh belonging only to the embroidered bloodied sky shook the earth beneath us. It wasn't long until our attention asserted to my risen brethren, whose physical characteristics I made out to be those who had befallen in Nuremlow. And before I could've decided whether or not to stand my ground, something tugged at me. Not physically, but mentally. Before I knew it, I was watching my doppelganger in a third-person's view, slaughtering the kin I was raised by, the elders whom I respected, the mothers and fathers who had showed compassion throughout my many years. A shadow befell the lands, and the crimson became cerulean as pluvial day quickly altered to stormy night. Finally, as the prophetic dream had begun to fade from my eyes, I made out one last vision...

A shadow stalked behind me, a death-defying form whom I had vaguely recognized, but couldn't identify. Something chilling surmounted this entity as I had watched my own merciless end by it, like some sort of grim vocation had finally been fulfilled.

Torrential downpour washed away the tears of those who had been slain by the Neverparanorm, and washed away the blood back into Twelve, ready to recycle it back into the life cycle. That is all that war ever was; the decider of not who was right, but whom was left. As virtue meshed back into reality, I heard once more. "Never, nothing, naught, Neverparanorm."


	11. Chapter Seven: Exeunt, The Beryl Garb

Things suddenly slowed down so fast. Like when you've fallen and hit your head and you're left dazed for a few minutes. That was the recovery process by the time reality had snapped back to. I found the earth my head had been resting against to be uncharred. Rather, live with flourished pigments of greens and luscious hues of yellows and violet petals. Some sort of clearing, left in peace by the sounds of tweets and scavenging. Blades of light cut through the canopy above, indicating daytime. Where was I? What time is it? Where was Cid? Lethargic legs pulled me up but I was left addled by a feverish headache. It was chilly here. Drafts of cool wind danced in the glade beside me. I had to find out where I was.

"Ah, glad to see you've regained consciousness." My attention pivoted to meet the stony-carved eyes of a jester. He stared back with a perplexed gaze. "Are you alright?" I hesitated for a moment, but curiosity folded with nervousness into a stuttered remark.  
"You... the jester...!" Abruptly he broke out into an affable cackle, the kind that was kindled only uniquely by the same bout shared over brewed ale.  
"I am not the being you claim to have seen." He kept laughing for a little longer, which by all means agitated me by no end.  
"Shut up!" His laughing lagged a little, and soon it came to an abrupt halt.  
"Dear boy." His hands came out in such an innocent gesture. "We've never met before." His mask guised his face, but I saw right through it that he had smiled so coyly the expression could've ripped his cheek bones in two.  
"Don't play stupid!" I stood up on command, taken aback by just how befuddled my body still was from before. The attempt to audaciously mark my presence was, for the most part, futile in my current condition. "Answer me you demon!" I reached for my blade, but I found that inconveniently it was vacant from my waist.  
"Crude, Veritas. Crude." The jester erected into a tall pose, tossing a scabbard at my feet. Just by the way he had arisen, pushing down on his knees and raising his buttocks from the stump, one could tell he was no novice to this world. He had that sagely aspect to his movements. "If I may suggest, you should consider actually opening your eyes." The mask vicariously smirked in place of his face. "Rayn." He let his arms out, as if to let the world gaze upon his otherworldly garment. But after a few moments, it became apparent. The details began to filter through my head, and I had begun to see the subtle differences that made this joker one different from the sinister one from before. A mellow verdigris fabric embellished his rather frail torso, as opposed to a fiery crimson. The mask he bore had engraved a sneer of cold command, rather than the tears of a ghost. The differences were subtle, and yet they were apparent, even in the voice. The hostile jester had a seemingly agonized voice, in contrast to this one's blithe temperament. "You see? Not the same!" His chortle left me more confused than reassured.  
"So... if that's the case then who are you, and who was the other jester from before?" I hadn't realized it but by this time I was leaning against a rather slender maple.  
"Well!" He returned gracefully to his seat from before, gaily skipping as such a child in a springtime meadow. I slid down the grainy husk against my back and planted myself on a snug sod patch. "I suppose we should get down to business." I nodded in agreement. There were a lot of questions, and I should start at some the basics. He slid a finger against his chin, reaching for words. "My name is Jade, at your service." Momentarily he stood to take quite the vainglorious bow. "Next question." It felt like there was a lump in my throat, which made annunciation awkward.  
"Where am I?" As if offended, Jade's hands planted against his hips.  
"You're in Astrub Meadows! Did the whole warped experience evoke amnesia or something?" The insult went right over my head, but it did bring up a whole new set of questions.  
"Wait, that's right! What the hell just was that?"  
"Was what?" There it was again; that same beaming gesture.  
"The whole shenanigan! The vision! The dead soldiers!" I hadn't realized it but I had my arms flailing around trying to help explain myself, which actually just made me look even more of a baffling imbecile.  
"Look, look." He tried to calm me down. "You're a bit fuzzled up there. There's a lot of questions that I cannot answer right now. But I can point you off in the right direction." He pointed down a untouched stone pathway through a clearing to what I could see in the distance as the walls of a city. "Cid went that way." Involuntary curiosity forced my body to lean forwards, as if yearning for him to repeat his last utterance. He simpered a bit, tittering.  
"I would depart as soon as possible, were I you." Jade muttered. "Cid is currently on his way to the northern gate, where he will encounter two individuals who will recruit him to their expedition. You must join them, before they depart." Inquisitiveness had led me to further inquire.  
"Depart where?" The jester had posed motionless for a few moments before snarling a name underneath his breath.  
"Goultard's Gorge." And at that very instant, Jade had melted into nothingness in the mere blink of an eye, leaving a depression where he had rested upon the stump. This destination marked the commencing of the most perilous odyssey known to the history of Twelve.


End file.
